The Black Mouse
by IceNine09
Summary: An A/U story about Jane as an S.O.E. spy during WWII in occupied France. She meets Maura, a member of a resistance cell known as the Maquis du Vercors. Adventure and love ensue.


_A/N: I'm new to this whole fiction-writing thing. Let me know what you think and I'll keep trying at it if this is any good. I seriously have no idea how this sounds or anything…it made sense to me when I wrote it but it may have absolutely no flow or whatever to the people who, ya know, don't live in my head ;)_

_Also please forgive any historical or geographical inaccuracies that may ensue. I did __**some**__ research but not a ton so anything that's way off I apologize for._

_And clearly I don't own Rizzoli and Isles or the characters._

Jane had been preparing for this moment for months if you were to ask her superiors, but by her count it had been years. Years of a life that had shaped her into the woman she was. Surrounded by a family devoted to the principles of freedom and patriotism; two brothers and a fairly tough childhood to boot. Growing up in a lower class Boston neighborhood had trained her to fight for what you deserved. A life of feminine poise was never in her cards. But she had never felt the loss of that hand. Her deck was stacked with strength, integrity, bravery, and an uncanny instinct.

At least, these were the things she told herself in this moment. Because frankly, what else could a person say as they stared out of the back of an airplane and prepared to willingly throw themselves 300 feet to the ground.

"This is INSANE!"

While the roar of the props drowned out her words, Frost knew what she had said. His only response was a tilt of the head, a raised eyebrow, and that signature smirk that Jane had grown to know so well over the last 6 months or so.

"Seriously Frost, I don't think I can…"

Jane tried to say again but was interrupted as she felt the slap of a hand on her shoulder, and the barely audible words, "Stop thinking so much then! Time to go Clementine!"

Before Jane could respond with an appropriate remark, her jumping partner, and rather unfortunate commander, gave her a rough shove and the plane floor simply fell away. Surprisingly, her fear began to fade as she plummeted lower and lower. Jane recognized the familiar sensation as muscle memory took over. Her body began to react without conscious effort. Weeks of practice jumps had trained her mind and limbs what to expect. The ground rapidly rising to meet her, the feel of the chute chord in her hand, the pull on that string, her chest jolting sharply against the harness as her ascent abruptly slowed, and finally her legs solidly connecting with hard ground.

The seconds after a landing always seemed to move slower to Jane as she recovered from being on solid earth again. And before she was fully able to orient herself she heard her oh-so-affectionate jumping buddy shout, "What in the Hell's the matter, princess? Move your arse already! You think you have time to brush your hair and fix your face? We're in bloody Krout-filled France now. Stop standing around like you can't find your head and move please!"

As fast as she could, Jane unclipped her bag, whirled around and swung a tightly balled fist in the direction of Crowe's face. A dull smacking sound resounded in the dark morning air as Jane's hand connected with the chin of her very shocked 'leader'.

"That's for shoving me out of the plane," Jane stated in a controlled voice, concentrating deeply on concealing exactly how much throwing that punch had hurt.

In a calm but gruff voice Crowe threatened, "You are aware you just attacked your commanding officer?"

Jane caught his gaze and without blinking answered, "And you are aware that we are not exactly in the most traditional military setting, _sir_? The S.O.E doesn't quite adhere to the same code your precious R.A.F does. I'll follow your God-Damned orders but do NOT expect me to put up with you endangering my life. Got it?"

Crowe conceded as his stare faltered. "We don't have time for this. We have too much ground to cover before the sun rises to be standing around having a pissing contest. You'll follow my orders? Then I order you to move quickly and quietly, clear?"

Without waiting for a response he turned and began walking north. A barely discernable, "American women…" was muttered under his breath.

"Yes, sir." Jane smirked towards her C.O.'s back and followed suit.

They marched in silence for close to an hour. Jane desperately trying to regain that sense of automatic focus she had felt during her jump. She couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't real. Oh sure, it felt like she was awake, it didn't seem as though she was dreaming. The cool moist air whisked through her hair. The ground steadily rose to meet her every step. It was just impossible to wrap her mind around where she really was. She glanced over the mountainous countryside that was slowly coming into the day and found it impossible that this beautiful land was surrounded by such violence and turmoil. It seemed a perfect metaphor for her internal mental battle.

Intellectually she understood why she was allowed on this mission, and in many ways she felt more than up to the task. Her father was an electrician. She had watched and idolized him nearly every day of her life. She knew how to repair light fixtures, speakers, typewriters, toasters, Hell even the entire wiring of homes! If it involved wires she could build it or fix it. But what made her uniquely valuable to this mission was her particular expertise in radios. That had been her calling it seemed. Being a young woman meant that she did not exactly work independently on any of these projects, at least not at first, but she had been accompanying her father to jobs since she was ten. And in her spare time she had earned a little money tinkering and fixing friends radios. As she learned more and more about them she became a bit of a specialist by the time she left home at 18.

So Jane knew why she was here. She understood why she was valuable, and she somehow knew she could handle whatever would come her way. Her life after 18 had certainly helped to prepare her for that as well. But knowing something, and feeling something are two very different things. Because how she felt…was scared shitless.

As Jane was battling her inner demons, Crowe was trying to wrap his small brain around why on earth England had allowed women, more particularly this American woman, into their special services in the war effort. He knew that these were desperate times but still, it seemed simply outrageous that his dignified country would stoop to these levels. While he understood the argument behind the unique value of female spies, his gut told him it was simply wrong.

Each party kept to themselves as their thoughts circled in this manner. Time continued to pass. Their walk turning intense as the terrain became more and more steep.

Crowe broke the silence after several hours, "Why are you doing this, Rizzoli?"

"Same reasons you are I suppose."

"Yes, but I'm a man. When there is a war it is men who fight for the sake of country, and for their wives and children. A woman isn't equipped to deal with the horrors or challenges of war. Not mentally and certainly not physically."

Jane sighed, "How many times are we gonna have this conversation, sir? You know just as well as I do that a woman can often do things a man can't, just cause she's overlooked. You know what, though? This really is getting tired. You want to know why I'm here? It doesn't make a damn bit of difference what shape my body is. I care about my country and what it stands for. I care about my brothers. I care about the people over here that are getting shoved around and killed by a madman. And believe it or not I'm in a position to help. So what the Hell kind of person would I be if I didn't?"

"A sane one no doubt."

"Ha! Well, sir, you may just have a point there."

The two left the conversation at that. Content to focus the rest of their energy on the hike.

The sun began to break through the tops of the trees as Jane and Crowe neared their rendezvous point. They were to meet at a farmhouse a few miles outside of Vassieux-en-Vercors. Jane knew little about the resistance cell they were expected to work along side. What she did know was that the leader of the group, only known to their intelligence as Vincent, was a middle-aged man with graying hair and kind eyes. Frost had been communicating with the man for months through coded message, once or twice via radio. A single photograph Frost had somehow gotten a hold of was the only known image of the man. Despite it's poor quality it was shown to Jane and Crowe so that they may recognize their sole contact. Jane assumed the group that Vincent led would be much like all other groups of desperate men that she had encountered: guarded and chauvinistic.

Their hike continued in a peaceful fashion and they finally came upon a sprawling and dilapidated farm. Crowe began to check the coordinates.

"This it?" Jane was the first to speak.

"Believe so. Move carefully though, and keep your mouth in check."

Jane glared in respond.

"Please," Crowe somehow managed to say without too much disdain. "Follow me."

Crowe moved through the field that lay between themselves and the farm. As the two began passing the ancient barn that hugged the edge of the field, he heard a loud hum.

"Bloody Hell."

"That a car?"

"Yes. The question is whose. Stay close and stay silent."

Jane's heart began to beat loudly in her ears as she pressed herself tightly against the far side of the barn. She could over hear men talking. _Two of them…in German_. "Shit," she mouthed.

Her eyes closed. Jane tried hard to focus on their words, drown out the sound of the birds, blowing grasses, and her own thumping pulse; but the car had parked close to the farmhouse which was still a few hundred feet away. For the second time that day moments stretched. And for a while Jane could heard nothing. Then the soft steps of boots crossing the dirt path leading toward the barn became audible.

Her chest rose and fell, heavy and quick. Crowe chanced a nervous glance in her direction. He motioned for Jane to draw her gun as he reached for his own weapon inside his coat. Jane heard the German's steps advance as she slowed her breathing and pointed her handgun toward the ground, willing to use it if necessary.

Crowe mouthed, "Ready?"

But before Jane could nod, a soft hand encircled her mouth and a gentle voice to match whispered, "shhh," in her left ear. Crowe turned around sharply to see who spoke and was shocked to see a strange young woman with her hand over Jane's face.

The woman whispered, "I'm a friend," in an American accent.

Jane turned around carefully and regarded the woman whose hand still ghosted her lips. Her eyes found vibrant hazel and she froze.

"This way," the fair-haired woman stated as she motioned toward a sort of ladder nailed to the side of the barn nearly obscured in ivy.

Jane stood motionless as she held the intense gaze of the mystery woman. She was only awoken from her reverie by the now louder footsteps of the German still headed their way.

Crowe nodded sharply to Jane, indicating she ascend first. He followed next as the mystery woman was the last to move. As quietly as she could Jane climbed the lattice. The boards led to a small door near the top of the barn. Slowly she opened it and climbed into the dark space.

The fair woman appeared through the small door after Crowe. Upon entering she tripped and stumbled into Jane. A dull thud sounded throughout the barn, causing the three allies to freeze. Acting on instinct Jane had braced the stranger's fall by grasping her forearms tightly. The woman had leaned into Jane during her misstep; her head slightly lowered. Jane could feel her heart race out of fear and confusion. Her head swelled with the smell of this strange woman's hair as it softly tickled her chin. A moment passed before Jane realized she needed to continue to breathe. Slowly the woman turned her head upward and focused on Jane. Their eyes locked yet again in the dim barn.

The quiet scratch of earth outside began to rhythmically fade, signaling the departure of the German. The woman pushed herself quickly from Jane as if struck. Her eyes stayed fixed for another beat, until she furrowed her brow and broke the contact. The sound of an engine revved, and soon quieted as the men drove off. Jane exhaled loudly and looked to the woman for some sort of explanation.

"I'm Maura Isles. The Maquis du Vercors welcomes you to France."


End file.
